


Kneel (Before A God)

by aliitvodeson



Series: And it's the strangest thing [4]
Category: Age of Apocalypse (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: AGE OF APOCALPYSE IS IT'S OWN TRIGGER WARNING, Canonical Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Flashbacks, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knifeplay, Past Child Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Torture, Unethical Experimentation, flashbacks to rape, flashbacks to torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7762405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliitvodeson/pseuds/aliitvodeson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>En Sabah Nur has won. The nations of the world bow down before him. One child though, one mutant, dares risk her own life to save humanity. Found in the battle of New York, she carries the last of Apocalypse's genes, and so, he brings her with him to rule.</p>
<p>But Clarice Ferguson has not lead a life of ruling.</p>
<p>And it is not what her ancestor expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kneel (Before A God)

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this. Legit though, no excuse at all. Lord forgive me for hurting my small child like this.

It feels like a dream. Some fog she walks through, her steps dragging down under the weight of disbelief. There’s noise in the palace, and it’s all muffled by the fog around her. She hears noise, but not the words of those who speak in such muted tones around her.

Dark shapes pass her as she moves down the stone pathway

The throne room opens up in front of her, and she’s the slowlest moving in the crowd, but it parts before her. It is the unearthly unrealness of a dream, of a false memory, of watching something that she knows can not be real

The powers of the world, come to bow before Apocalypse, to treat and plead with him for mercy.

And she may be making her way towards the throne with a purpose none of them hold, there’s a chair next to it for her, and yet she comes with as much the same reasoning as all those men in suits and women in heels.

He’d won. Beaten the Avengers, the Xmen, and New York City lay a smoking wasteland on the banks of the Hudson. And all that she’d done to talk him down, all she had done to pull him back from the edge, every word, has brought them to this. This is where they have ended up. A chance for peace, as much as it can be under Apocalypse. A chance for the world to live, if they can swing this right, if he’ll listen to what she says.

She lifts her eyes up to him

En Sabah Nur sits enthroned on stone, the seat too big for him. In the aftermath of New York, and the temporary ceasefire, he has returned to a far more _human_ size. But the palace is built for the monster he can become, and it’s huge around him now, the ceiling rising to get lost int he sky, the stone bench wide enough that he must lean forward in it. He does so as she approachs, and the room goes silent behind her as she climbs up the steps.

The monster styled god inclines his head.

Clarice stops, short of where her place in this cermony is. She goes not to the chair, but the steps in front of him. Back to the audience, she tilts her chin up to the man, myth, monster, rule, _family_.

Her green eyes stare up at his red ones.

“You’ve won. Congratulations.”

The earth bowing down before him, asking for mercy, asking for a second chance, and she’ll never believe that all resiatnce against him is gone, this is only breathing space. But it’s enough. It’s enough, to call it winning, when the human governments stagger around in confusion and the Xmen have vanished to who knows where, the Avengers with them.

“The earth’s yours.”

Those words nearly die in her month. They can’t let him take it. She can’t let him have the world, but maybe there’s another path, another way to bring it back to peace, and survival, and living. She feels the murmering of the crowd; she may look congraulatory, that may be her position, but the tone of her words is not that of a younger genuinely approaching the leader in victory.

It is the next words that seal it.

“And now, _Abuelo_ , give it up.”

He stands, and the echoes of his footsteps leave goosebumps on her spine. But even his steps towards her do not leave her bowing down, do not have her turning from her bravery. He dwarfs her, even in this more human form, and still she does not shrink back before him.

“Let go of this madness. You’ve proved your strength enough.”

His voice is a growl, low and deep in his throat, and when he speaks, all those gathered in the room shudder. All but her. Still, her eyes betray a flicker of fear, He stops before her, and his hands come down, swallowing up her thin shoulders.

“Kneel when you address a god.”

And his hands push on her shoulders, and his words echo in her brain, and all of her mind goes blank. She’s lost, flondering in the darkness, and her knees slide down to the cold stone floor, as her breath turns to shuddering gasps. His hands push her down to a kneel and she can do something, too lost to do anything.

Her eyes go wide in fear as her knees hit the floor.

_“Kneel before me, you stupid slut.” **Slap!** A hand across her cheek, that leaves a bruise all over her too young face. A man’s hand, digging into her scalp, pushing her down to the floor. She falls with a whimper, child’s knees nothing against his strength._

_“Kneel and suck, bitch.” A different guard, a different floor, and it’s the same routine. The same push down, the same not-there resitance. The pain in her jaw, choaking on the foreign object in her mouth. The bite of fingers on her thin shoulder bones._

_“Kneel.” A single word, spoken in a harsh accent, and he grips both of her shoulders, pushes her down as she screams against the pain. Her broken leg twists under her, and he laughs as he drags the red hot knife over her collarbone. Her back is voered in similar wounds, all still bleeding. She’s past crying._

_“Look at that slut kneel.” On her knees in the center of the room, and there’s guards all around her, and they laugh as she twists against the restraints on her wrists. Simple rope, and it’s enough, with the power dampening collar around her neck. One grips her hair in his fist and pulls her head back, sharp and hard, and another grins down at her as he pushes his cock at her stiff lips. “Open up slut, we know you like it.”_

_“Oh stay kneeling, it’s fine.” He waves a dismissive hand at her, and she whines around the bit of leather between her teeth. She’s all skin and bones, and the leather strap hangs down to her shoulders, too long, a gag all the same. Leather holds her wrists against the bars of the cage, as the Beast leans in. Sharp claws caress her hair, and though she recoils, her knees do not move far enough. A needle pricks her skin, and her veins turn to fire. The leather does little to muffle her screams. “Don’t worry, we’re going to have lots of fun tonight.”_

In the throne room, green eyes stare blankly up from a face twisted in fear, from a body that recoils from the touch that holds it down, from a girl who shivers under the hold he has on her. Her lungs struggle to bring in air. Her mouth is slack and hanging open.

A single command, __**kneel** , and she is nothing but broken fear.


End file.
